


I Still Run (Songfic)

by inochidzuna



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for Reichenbach Fall, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inochidzuna/pseuds/inochidzuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Johnlock songfic using SheDaisy's "I Still Run (Still holding out for you)". Deals with suicide and grief (i.e. angsty).</p>
<p>Set after Season 2's Reichenbach Fall episode. Mentions situations in from the series so may have spoilers for those that have not watch the episodes. </p>
<p>Slash fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Still Run (Songfic)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting something I've written. Not beta read. Comments and constructive criticisms welcomed. 
> 
> I'm just using the characters from BBC's Sherlock for fun and no profit made. The characters don't belong to me.  
> Song lyrics come from SheDaisy's "I Still Run (Still holding out for you)". I don't own the song / lyrics.

Being in the military for so long and serving active duty, John knew the risks. But he was career military and it was his life until it got taken away by a gunshot. He had expected to die in service to Queen and Country. Every time he shipped out, he used to feel guilty – guilty that one day, Harry would get an official notification that he was KIA and that she would be left behind to deal with what’s left. 

Coming back to London and meeting Sherlock, it was like entering into another warzone. It made him feel alive. It gave him a reason to keep living. It was the best thing that ever happened to him and he never expected to lose Sherlock in this war. John never expected to be the person left behind. 

_Never thought I'd be in this place_  
 _It's someone else’s life I’m living_  
 _Wish I were living a lie_

Seeing Sherlock take the jump and hearing his last words, broke something in him. He was so angry because it was never suppose to be him left behind. How was he to cope now? The man that completed him and made him whole was suddenly gone...

_The hardest part is when the bough breaks_  
 _Falling down and then forgiving_  
 _You didn't kiss me good-bye_

**“Goodbye John”**

Such innocuous words. Words that people say in passing every day, sometimes as a habit, without meaning it. He would never be able to forget the image that goes with it. His best friend, lover, soulmate, the person that completed him, falling down and never getting up again. Sherlock would never be there to greet him with a kiss when he gets home. He wouldn’t get sneaky hugs from Sherlock in between experiments. No more cuddling on the sofa with Sherlock berating the show that he is watching. 

_I'm choking on the words I didn't get to say_  
 _And pray I get the chance one day_

There were so many things that he still wanted to tell Sherlock. There were so many things he needed to tell him. 

**"You saved me"**

**"Never leave me"**

**“I love you"**

But he couldn’t do that now. Not now because Sherlock was dead. He’s all alone now. The world that was so colourful and full of life because of Sherlock was not dull and dreary. The flat that was once bustling with life – Sherlock pacing around, grumbling and muttering away because he was bored or because he was working out a case – seemed so quiet.

_I still run_  
 _I still swing open the door_  
 _I still think you'll be there like before_

Sometimes, he thinks that he hears Sherlock running up the stairs and he turns to the door. Everything would be fine if Sherlock would just burst in. He would welcome him with hugs and kisses even if he was covered with blood like the time he came back with the harpoon. Just after Sherlock’s death, he used to jump up and open the door every time he hears the downstairs door open and footsteps coming up the stairs. 

_Doesn't anybody out there know to never come around_  
 _some things a heart won't listen to_  
 _I'm still holding out for you_

A part of him was still hopeful that when he opened the door, Sherlock would be behind it. But that never happened. Sometimes, Mycroft would be there, other times Harry or Lestrade. Every time he opens the door to see someone other than Sherlock there, some part that’s left of his soul withers away. They tell him it’s time to move on. But he wants to tell them that there’s nothing left for him. 

_I can hear you smile in the dark_  
 _I can even feel you breathing_  
 _When the daylight chases the ghost_

Hidden under the duvet in their shared bed, he can almost feel Sherlock there with him. In the dark, with the heavy duvet that still carries Sherlock’s scent, he can pretend that it’s Sherlock’s arms around him. Holding him safe and away from the nightmare that is his life. When morning comes, he closes his eyes tight and sometimes, he can even feel Sherlock’s heart beating against his back and his breathe against his neck. And it’s these moments that gives him the strength to go through the day. 

_I see your coat and I fall apart_  
 _To those hints of you I'm clinging_  
 _Now’s when I need them most_

Mycroft comes by one day with Sherlock’s coat. He said that Sherlock would have wanted him to have it. Seeing the coat brings back so many memories. He remembers the first time he meets Sherlock – he was wearing the coat and as he strides out of the lab to retrieve his riding crop, his coat flares out behind him and John remembers thinking that Sherlock was a arrogant git but oh such an amazing one. He remembers Sherlock draping the coat around him one day, a few weeks after their relationship revolved from friends to lovers - John was only wearing his jumper and it had started to drizzle. John also remembered seeing the coat on Sherlock when he jumped off the roof – the coat flaring like wings. John keeps the coat. 

_I should get up, dry my eyes and move ahead_  
 _At least that's what he would have said_

Once in a while, John would try to think of what Sherlock would say to him if he saw John now. Sherlock once told him that crying over people doesn’t do any good. Maybe Sherlock would have told him to suck it up and move on with his life. Maybe Sherlock would have wanted him to mourn over his death – the dramatic person that he was. John would never know would he? After all, Sherlock is dead and he left John behind. 

_Faithfully, I trace your name while you sleep_  
 _It's the only true comfort I feel_

John visits Sherlock’s grave every week, rain or shine. Sometimes, he stands in front of the grave and speaks to Sherlock – it helps to pretend that Sherlock is listening. Sometimes, he kneels and traces Sherlock’s name on the tombstone – he wishes that Sherlock was alive and in front of him and that he is touching warm pale flesh instead of hard, cold granite. 

_I still run_  
 _I still swing open the door_  
 _I still think you'll be there like before_  
Three years later, John thinks that he’s coping better. He thinks he’s finally ready to move on. He has packed up Sherlock’s clothes and things. They’re all in boxes and he’ll drop them off in a shelter when he leaves the flat later. John takes a look around the flat and, thinking of how different the place looks now. All the books and knick knacks are gone. He hears the front door opening and footsteps coming up the stairs. Lestrade was suppose to come by and collect the old case files that John found when he was packing up Sherlock’s things. 

_I still run_  
 _I still swing open the door_  
 _I still think you'll be there like before_

He opens the door and the greeting that he was uttering gets cut off. Instead of Lestrade, John sees a tall, thin man with dark curly hair. He must be dreaming. Maybe he isn’t better – he’s starting to hallucinate now. He must have opened the door over a thousand times, hoping to see Sherlock behind it. It has never happened until now. John stands frozen on the doorstep. 

_I'm still holding out for you_  
 _Holding out for you_

“John, my John” he hears the smooth baritone he never expects to hear again, calling his name. Sherlock gathers John into his arms and John stands there, frozen until suddenly, he realises that this is real and he is not imagining Sherlock. John wraps his arms around Sherlock and they hold on to each other tightly. John’s world explodes into colours once again. 

Later, there will be time for questions and answers. But for now, John basks in the feeling of warmth and completeness that Sherlock has brought back to him.


End file.
